


I am Your Skin

by hannigramcracker, TimmyJaybird



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bloodplay, Dubious Consent, Injuries similar to those of self harm, M/M, dark!Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 02:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1710986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannigramcracker/pseuds/hannigramcracker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Because we crave intimacy,” he admitted, “You and I. We have since the beginning of all this.” He lifted his hand, waved it, as if he could cover the extent of their sordid relationship from start to present with just his palm. Still, he had no words for the sick sort of friendship that had formed, the affection he had once sought from Hannibal, had wanted and craved and would have done so much for. The urge was still there, somewhere in his gut- to be close to Hannibal, to share an intimacy no one else could understand. “It only seems right that I should give you that, as a dying grace.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	I am Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> We're back with another collaboration! In a completely different direction, as well! Make sure you read the warnings before going on- this isn't necessarily pretty in any sense. (When we say bloodplay, oh boy do we mean it.)

_I can feel your pulse like a moth inside a jar, and even this is still too far_ \- The Bravery, "I am Your Skin".

 

The air felt as if it crackled around him, alive with static and a tuneless hum Will couldn’t place. He licked his lips, staring at Hannibal across the small space, settled comfortably in his chair, those burgundy eyes on Will. They bore into him, held an openness that had only been revealed to Will recently, only after he had been forced to keep only his mind as company behind bars. Only after he had nearly pulled the trigger on a man that _deserved to die_ , and regretted it. Not that he had wanted to- no, but the _missed opportunity_.

That was where they were, once again- on Mr. Ingram. They seemed to circle back to this a lot, to the point that Will felt like a broken record. “Tell me,” Hannibal said, calmly, hands folding in his lap, “Was it only a missed opportunity that you didn’t kill him?”

Will licked his lips, caught a glint in Hannibal’s eyes at the motion, that made his lips twist into a half smirk. He ran his hands along the arms of the chair. “What do you mean, Doctor?”

“Had you killed him, would it have not been a missed opportunity as well?” Will raised an eyebrow, his own curiosity piqued. The pleased look in Hannibal’s eyes told him that was what the man wanted- and he could indulge him, for a time. “You would have shot him.”

“Yes. A bullet right through his head,” Will admitted, “He’d have had a lovely echoing tune to die to.”

Hannibal smiled at that, openly- rather genuine. “Would that not have been rather impersonal? You fantasize about killing me with your hands, Will- yet you would use a gun on this man? What of your desire for intimacy?”

Will chuckled, leaning forward, arms resting along his thighs. There was a moment where he debated keeping silent, letting Hannibal dwell in a thick unknown, but something inside him urged him to speak, wanted to unravel and watch Hannibal chase the pieces, try to put them back in a proper order. Will didn’t think anything inside him was in the proper order to begin with.

“It would have been more satisfying,” Will admitted, “but not necessary. The gun would have done the job.”

“It would have been enough to do a bad thing to a bad man?” Will nodded, the simplicity sounding strange coming from Hannibal’s lips- lips Will was watching, he realized. Yet he didn’t tear his gaze away, instead he held it- knew Hannibal was watching him. “Why would it be so important with me than, Will?”

“Because we crave intimacy,” he admitted, “You and I. We have since the beginning of all this.” He lifted his hand, waved it, as if he could cover the extent of their sordid relationship from start to present with just his palm. Still, he had no words for the sick sort of friendship that had formed, the affection he had once sought from Hannibal, had wanted and craved and would have done so much for. The urge was still there, somewhere in his gut- to be close to Hannibal, to share an intimacy no one else could understand. “It only seems right that I should give you that, as a dying grace.”

Hannibal chuckled, leaned forward now, eyes locking with Will’s. “Is that your only reason, William?” He licked his lips, Will saw the movement, stored it away in the files of his mind as a gesture he’d like to replay at a later date. “For my benefit? Do you get nothing out of having your hands on me?”

Will liked that- _having your hands on me_. He knew it was no accidental phrasing, he knew Hannibal far too well to ever believe that. He chose his words carefully- they had personality, after all. Each told a story. Each could end a life and restart a heart.

“The feeling of your breath,” Will admitted, “leaving you. Close enough that I can feel it- here.” He reached up, traced his lower lip with his middle finger. “The feeling of your throat working against my hands- that, Dr. Lecter, is what I get out of the situation.” Hannibal leaned back, crossing his legs, and Will wondered if the darkness seeping from his pupils into his eyes was curiosity or arousal-

Or both.

“You want this, yet you would let someone else use their hands on me.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, spoken through accent and a veil of falsified detachment. Will knew Hannibal was as attached to him as he could bear- and then beyond that. Will knew that Hannibal harbored some sort of feelings regarding him- it was just a matter of putting names and definitions to them. If it could be done. “You tried to have me killed, Will. Yet you hid behind another man.”

“I didn’t _hide_.” Will’s legs itched to stretch, to stand, cross the room, grasp Hannibal’s wrists and lift them up. Beneath his jacket and shirt was the evidence of Will’s attempt on his life- memories laced into risen, puckered flesh. Will’s brand on Hannibal’s very existence. “They were as good as my hands.”

“No.” Hannibal leaned his chin against one hand. “No Will, they were not. You may have played a part in what was done to me- orchestrated it, but you were removed, forced to watch as a spectator. You can empathize with what was done- but would it be the same? Would it be as good as stringing me up yourself?”

Will gritted his teeth, inhaled sharply through his nose. Faintly, there was Hannibal’s cologne- just the ghost of a scent. It calmed him, centered him, and if Will were to close his eyes he knew he would see Hannibal displayed like Christ, would see the blood riveting along his arms, the gloss to his eyes as his air was choked, slowly, from him, as the loss of blood went to his head. He knew he could see it because he _had_ , countless times before.

“It was,” Will admitted, “when it was all I had.” Hannibal nodded, and there was silence for a moment, as Will was aware of the man watching him, taking him in, before finally speaking.

“And what do you have now, Will?”

Will inhaled again, fingers lacing together to keep from tugging at his pants or along the chair. He licked his lips, let the silence drag out, before finally breathing out one single word, letting it slither in through the air to be taken in whatever way the two desired. “You.”

And Hannibal knew it was true. Hannibal knew Will had him, and he knew he would _let_ Will have him in any way he wished. Hannibal closed his eyes and sucked his teeth for a moment before speaking again. When he opened his eyes, Will was standing. His hands twitched, but his eyes looked sure. Hannibal raised his eyes in interest. “And what is it that you want of me?” 

Will stepped closer before answer. Hannibal breathed in his scent. Dogs. That godforsaken aftershave. Sweat. And...something else that Hannibal could not exactly place a name to. He heard Will breathe in, a tiny gasp before he spoke. “I want you to _show me_.” 

There was something ruthless in Will Graham’s voice that made something beneath Hannibal’s skin begin to stir. Hannibal knew he could simply say no, tell Will this was overstepping boundaries, crossing so many lines. But what in his relationship with Will was not overstepping boundaries? Were there any lines at all anymore? 

Something inside of him told him that yes, there were, and they were running up and down his arms. 

“You want to see the outcome of the destruction you attempted to cause? Tell me, Will. What will you gain from seeing my scars?” Hannibal asked, with an air of cool detachment, heat growing and spreading inexplicably in his stomach. Will stepped closer still and Hannibal’s hands twitched and his scars burned. He nearly moaned with the sensation. 

Will was close enough now to reach out and place his hands on the arms of Hannibal’s chair. He gripped Hannibal’s forearms, and Hannibal could not keep himself from gasping this time. It would have been easy, _so easy_ to stand up and push Will away from him, press him to the far wall of his office and show him what this felt like, but he did not. He stayed put and breathed in the scent of Will, angry and now unmistakably aroused. He flexed his fingers. 

“ _Show me._ Let me see. I want to see your destruction, see where the life almost left you, see the spaces where all of your well-kept composure bled from you. I want to see the cracks left over, the only place where the madness comes out. I want to see your destruction, and I want to know that I caused it. I want to see my work.” 

“But, my good Will, these marks are not your work.” Hannibal’s words were laced with something that could not be construed as contempt, but laid somewhere along the lines of abject amusement. He did not move his hands to unbutton the sleeves of his shirt, and he still did not make any attempts to move away from Will. He was endlessly intrigued with where this could be heading. 

“They will be.” Will’s voice was a low growl, and with that, Will was tearing open the bottoms of his sleeves. A small white opal button separated from the fabric and bounced and skid across the floor. Hannibal’s eyes trained on it and he watched it spin and still on the wood. He grounded himself to the button; if it no longer moved, he would not either. 

He felt Will’s lips at the top of one mottled, raised, red scar. Hannibal was not sure exactly if it could be called a scar yet, still in this stage of healing. His eyes moved from the glossy button on the floor to the curly crown of Will’s head, moving as he tongued up and down the ridge of raised flesh. Without warning, Will’s thighs were pressing up against Hannibal’s as he made his way into the other man’s lap. Hannibal moaned a small protest, tiny and half hearted, and Will bit down around the tip of his scar in response. 

Hannibal gasped audibly, and tried to pull away, pain blossoming, flowering, intense. Will lapped around the sensitive area, pressing his knees into Hannibal’s sides, keeping him put. Hannibal writhed beneath the heat of Will, his arousal growing and dying at the same time, creating a constant building and ebbing flow of tension combating the pain he was feeling in his forearm. He felt Will plant and tighten his lips somewhere around the center of his wound and suck, one long pull. Hannibal groaned without abandon, the pain too acute to stop himself. His mind buzzed and ran like charcoal smudging and he tightened his fingers against the arms of the chair. 

Will pressed the flat of his tongue against his flesh, moving it slightly until it was only the tip touching, reaching, licking. Will sucked again, deep and long, and Hannibal cried out as he felt the skin break and blood bloom over and through Will’s teeth. Will’s other hand reached over and squeezed the exposed skin on his other arm, fingers wrapped around and hanging on tightly. Will sucked again, his throat working as he swallowed down Hannibal’s blood. 

“God, Will, please-! _Stop._ ” 

Will heard desperation laced in those words, something so unlike Hannibal yet what he desired, what Will needed to hear in him. He sucked again, let the coopery flavor coat his tongue, before he mouthed away from the open wound, pressing pink stained kisses along the scar, into the crook of Hannibal’s elbow, to that soft, sensitive skin. His lips brushed the fabric of his shirt, pushed up above his elbow now, and left a pink stain behind.

He gripped Hannibal’s other arm tighter, bowed his head again to suck on the open wound one more time- heard Hannibal groan, ending in a mewl, felt the way the man’s body was betraying him beneath him. Will smirked against skin, then lifted his body, staring Hannibal right in his burgundy eyes, his stained lips smirking devilishly.

“You want me,” Will whispered, let the statement hang in the heavy air for a moment, before adding, “to _own you_ , Dr. Lecter. I can- ah,” he tipped his head back, pressing down against Hannibal’s length, confined in his clothing still but hard none the less. “I can _feel_ it.” He watched Hannibal swallow, leaned forward and pressed his bloody mouth to Hannibal’s throat, felt his adam’s apple bob as he tried to swallow again. Will chuckled, forced his breaths to vibrate, then pressed open mouth kisses up to his pulse point, flicking his tongue against his skin to feel the slight elevation of his heart- a heart rate that never rose.

Hannibal’s cologne filled Will’s nose with each breath, each inhale, and he found he was pressing closer, wanting to take in everything this man had to offer his senses. Hannibal was tense beneath him, but not fighting him off. One arm had small trickles of blood staining into skin from his open wound. Will ignored it, peppered pink staining kisses along his jaw, moaning softly as his lips dragged at the last kiss. He released Hannibal’s other arm, uninjured and still closed to him, and Hannibal was grasping at the back of his shirt, mouthing the word _stop_ even as he dragged that hand down to Will’s hips, tried to force him down to create the friction he wanted.

Will wondered how long the good doctor had wanted this. He wondered how long _he_ had wanted this.

He grabbed Hannibal’s chin, forced him to meet his gave for a minute, before closing the gap and taking his breath in, swallowing it as his copper-rich tongue dragged along Hannibal’s lips, his other hand pressing down over the fresh wound on Hannibal’s arm, palm smearing with blood. Hannibal’s mouth opened at the pressure on the wound, and Will’s tongue snaked in, tasting and testing and memorizing, filling Hannibal with the taste of his blood. Hannibal clutched, tilted his head so Will could better access him, and Will was smiling.

“You were mine before I ever scarred you,” Will whispered, his breath hot on Hannibal’s lips.

“You never scarred me,” Hannibal forced out, his voice threatening to catch in his throat, the heat of Will so close, the pressure of his body resting in his lap, his hand pressing down over his wound- it was all enough to leave his head spinning, cloudy. “Matthew Brown attempted to end my life, while you sat in your cell, William.”

Will gritted his teeth, dared to grasp Hannibal’s lower lip between them and bit enough that the points of his teeth created small indents. “Matthew was my hands,” Will whispered, pulling away from Hannibal’s wound and looking at his slick palm. Then, in one fluid motion, he pressed his hand to Hannibal’s throat, holding him tightly and smearing along what had been his lip prints. He felt Hannibal breathing against his hold, and tightened just enough to feel each twitch of muscle. “If you’re not satisfied, _Dr. Lecter_ ,” he added, “I can brand you all over again.”

Hannibal mewled beneath him, a sound completely undignified, undone. 

“Is that what you want?” Will’s breath was heavy and warm against his ear. In that moment, Hannibal had absolutely no idea what it was that he wanted. Part of him, the logical part, wanted Will away, off of him, across the room, back in his chair, or better yet back home in Wolf Trap. But another part, a bigger part driven by something primal and base within him, wanted Will right where he was; wanted more than what he was getting, wanted Will around him, all over him, inside of him; he wanted Will to become a part of him. A piece of Hannibal, deeply hidden and yet coming to the surface every second, _wanted_ Will to mark him again. 

Suddenly, Will’s supple lips were on his thin mouth again, the poise leaving the set of his lips as his taste buds sang with his own blood. He dared to flick forward, lapping his tongue along Will’s, scooping up the excess blood that had settled into the crevices of the other man’s mouth. Will clutched his hand around Hannibal’s arm impossibly harder and he drew back from Hannibal’s mouth, leaving him gasping, his eyes forcing closed. Hannibal felt himself arching up into Will’s heat nestled above his lap, a lump forming in his throat. Only now did he realize just how _achingly_ hard he was. His slacks were confining, but there was no way he would be able to reach down and loosen them, much less touch himself. Nor did he want to, not with Will on top of him in the enticing way that he was. No, no. It would be much better to play along and see where this took them. 

Will slid forward against Hannibal’s stuttering advances a bit, before stopping himself short with a laugh and standing up, off of Hannibal completely. Hannibal heard himself whimper. He wondered who he was, or more accurately, who _Will_ was to make him react in a such a way. To make him lose complete control over not only his body, but his mental faculties as well. Was that not usually his task to complete on his good Will?

The role reversal was delicious. 

“You haven’t answered my question, _Doctor Lecter_ ,” Will’s voice dripped with condescension. Hannibal let out a breathy moan, writhing against himself on the chair, arching up into the nothingness, his arms bleeding on the upholstery. “But I think I can see your answer.” 

Hannibal reached down to palm himself roughly through his clothing, wishing Will’s hand and heat would come back to rest against his sensitive groin. His forearm dragged along the high thread count, the soft satin, and his whispered a breath into the air that seemed to cackle with electricity. His blood would certainly ruin this suit, and if he wasn’t careful, something else would too…

“Ah, ah-” Will admonished, reaching forward and gripping Hannibal by the wrist roughly once again. He leaned forward, so his nose was almost touching Hannibal’s. Hannibal could smell every emotion on him. “Who do you belong to?”

Hannibal had no answer for Will. He knew the words that Will wanted to hear, but the lump in his throat caused by his building, building, _building_ arousal was making it hard for him to answer. 

“I _said_ who do you belong to, Hannibal?” 

Hannibal’s breath left him in a squeak, his head buzzing too much for him to be ashamed. 

“I have to remind you, don’t I?” Will mused, stepping away from Hannibal. He reeled in his absence. Hannibal watched as Will shoved a hand into the front right pocket of his jeans and fished around a little before pulling out something small and silver. Hannibal’s heart began to race, a strange sensation for him, when he recognized what he small object was. “I guess one set of marks just wasn’t good enough for you.” 

Hannibal moaned again, tiny and subdued, as Will clambered back onto his lap. “Will-”

“Oh no, Hannibal.” Will said before he trailed a few wet kisses up Hannibal’s jawline. The older man shivered. “You already had your chance to say no, and you said nothing.” 

Hannibal wouldn’t have said no even if he could have. 

Will continued to leave kisses all over any piece of exposed skin he could find, rough and full of teeth. He paused between each kiss to fiddle with the pocket knife before pulling back from Hannibal’s skin entirely, and flicking it open. Hannibal watched it glint in the dim light of the room in time with whatever dirty, sinful thing was dancing inside Will’s eyes. 

“I’ll give you one more chance, Hannibal.” Will said, testing the tip of the blade on his thumb. It was sharp and a bead of ruby sprung to the surface. Will sucked his thumb into his mouth and Hannibal bucked his hips again. “Who do you belong to?” 

Hannibal stared. He did not want to answer. He did not want this to end. 

Will clicked his teeth, disapproving, before he leaned back to rest his weight on Hannibal’s knees. He poised the knife in his hand and took Hannibal’s left forearm in his hand. He pushed the sleeve back out of the way and held tightly to back of his arm. Hannibal’s fingers tensed and closed around Will’s elbow. Will looked up, making and holding eye contact with Hannibal as he pressed the blade to his skin, not enough to bite, not enough to pierce, not yet. Hannibal’s breath left his lungs in a long, drawn, _ohhh_ and Will smirked.

He broke the eye contact and Hannibal writhed, bracing himself for what he knew was coming, the smell of his own blood making him dizzy. With little warning, Will drove the blade in, sinking it deep and running it parallel to the other mark already embedded in the flesh. Though he tried, Hannibal could not bite back the scream that bubbled from behind his teeth. Will breathed it in, rolling his head back on his neck slowly, eyes closing. His face was pointed upwards, knife still deep in Hannibal’s arm. “Yes, sing for me.” 

He slid the blade again through the track he had already made, sinking it deeper, spreading the red. Hannibal felt himself starting to shake, tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. He wanted this to stop, he wanted this to _end_ but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Will no. He could never deny Will anything. And what would be the point anyway? Will was clearly the one in control now, there was no stopping this once it had started. Hannibal felt another scream clawing at his chest, and as Will slid the blade one more time, this time quicker, stinging, rather than agonizingly slow, he called out unable to hold it back. 

“You have such a pretty voice, my beautiful fawn.” Will said, removing the blade for a moment. He held it to his face, and licked the flat edge of the blade slightly, shivering with the taste. “Keep singing.” 

And suddenly, the knife was in Hannibal’s mouth and he was licking, lapping up his own blood, feeling more of it leaving his arm and no doubt staining everything. He could feel himself beginning to sweat, cold and stifling, and his head felt so incredibly light. The blade was removed from his mouth, and he screamed again, this time only because his Will had asked him to. Hannibal swore he heard Will laughing underneath his screams, but he could not be sure. His head was really spinning now; how deeply had Will cut him? How much blood had he lost? He thought he heard Will ask him something, but he couldn’t make out the words. 

A harsh slap to his face brought him back to the present, back to the man in his lap, back to the burning in his arm. “Who do you belong to, Hannibal?” Will was practically shouting in his face, Hannibal was almost sure he could feel spittle landing on his cheeks. Or was that wetness his own tears? He couldn’t be sure. 

“You.” Hannibal answered, in a small voice. 

He again felt the cool kiss of the blade against his already torn apart forearm. His stomach twisted with the pain. “ _Who?_ ” Will bellowed, digging it in again. 

“ _You!_ ” Hannibal screamed, his voice hoarse, a sob dragging and clawing its way free. 

“That’s right.” Will answered, pleased. He wiped the blade on the plaid fabric of Hannibal’s slacks and made eye contact once more. “Now the other arm.” 

Hannibal lifted his other slightly, an offering, and Will grinned wickedly, gripping it with his free hand and tapping the flat of the blade against his pulse. He knew Hannibal’s head must be spinning, his vision going foggy. He was losing blood, enough that he would begin to question what was real, what was _actually_ happening- and that was what Will wanted.

He wanted Hannibal to question reality in the same ways he had made Will question it for  
so long.

He lifted the blade, pressed the tip into Hannibal’s skin, and then dragged it into a two inch cut along his arm, running over his scar in a new horizontal line, before repeating an inch below, and then again, and again, until Hannibal’s arm had four new short, bleeding cuts that broke the otherwise perfect complexion of his skin. The asymmetry to Hannibal’s arms now felt perfect to Will- two side sof one coin, two faces of this one man. The comfort that Will had once needed, and now the monster that Will felt himself embracing despite himself.

Hannibal made a small, broken sound, and Will looked at him. His eyes had gone glossy, but beneath Will he was still hard, and that made Will smile. He pressed down against him, grinding gently as he flicked the pocket knife shut, stuffed it back into his pocket, his other hand closing over Hannibal’s arm, palm smearing the blood along their skin.

“Tell me who and where you are,” Will whispered, leaning closer, and Hannibal’s eyes flicked along his face.

“My name is Hannibal Lecter,” he whispered, his voice growing hoarse, “And I’m in Baltimore, Maryland.”

“Good. And who are you with?” Hannibal’s tongue darted out, licked along his lips.

“Will Graham.”

Will smirked, leaning closer, so his breath ghosted with his words over Hannibal’s mouth. “And who am I to you, my darling fawn? _Who am I_?” Hannibal said nothing, and Will dared to lean closer, to run his tongue along Hannibal’s lower lip, felt the man’s breath hitch, the way he pushed his hips up with as much force as he could muster. Will reached one arm around him, tangling his hand in his hair and jerking his head back, pressing his mouth to the blood smears along Hannibal’s throat and lapping along his skin. “Who owns you, Hannibal?”

He felt Hannibal’s throat working as he swallowed, once, then, “You do.” Will smiled, released Hannibal’s bloody arm and tangled his other arm around him, grabbing his hair, matting blood into it until Hannibal looked like a sacrifice after the ritual, his eyes wide and pupils blown as Will ground down against him, ignoring his own arousal tight in his pants in favor of finding and teasing Hannibal’s with the weight of his body.

“Good boy,” Will whispered, “So good. You’re mine, Hannibal. I did this to you. Don’t.” He pressed down, slid his solid body along the press of Hannibal’s cock. “Forget.” His teeth dragged along flesh, made Hannibal shiver. “It.”

Hannibal groaned, and Will turned his head, looked at the neat rows of slanted wounds he had left on Hannibal’s arm, then back to look at the fresh wound on the other arm- a twin to the scar he had allowed Matthew to give Hannibal. “Now when you see them,” he whispered, “you will know it was me. It was me then, and it’s me now, Hannibal.” He reached one hand down, between them, palmed Hannibal’s erection, and the man gasped, eyelids fluttering. “You’re bleeding out, Hannibal,” Will whispered, “If I don’t stop it soon, you might be… _damaged_.”

 _You might be dead_.

Will licked his lips and lifted Hannibal’s arm, running his tongue along one short cut, feeling the man shudder as he rubbed him through his pants. He closed his mouth over the wound, sucked gently, and Hannibal mewled, head tipped back, too heavy for his neck to support. He felt sluggish, and Will was chuckling into the wound over it.

“I’ll stop the bleeding,” he whispered, “When you come undone for me, Hannibal. But only then.” He trailed bloody kisses up his arm, his chin smearing with it, leaving the two a complete scarlet mess. Will leaned in, pressed a kiss below Hannibal’s ear, left more red and pink lip imprints along his neck and jawline. “That’s your final step to admitting to yourself who owns you. _I own even your pleasure, Hannibal_.”

He squeezed Hannibal’s erection harder, stroked him through the fabric, and contemplated making him cum just like that, to take him down another notch. It was enticing, and Will licked along Hannibal’s mouth as the man pushed against his hand. He wondered if it was out of desire, or a fear that he really would bleed out if he didn’t cooperate with Will. He hoped it was both- equal parts desire and fear.

Much like what Hannibal had instilled in Will.

“You are beautiful bloody,” Will breathed, inhaled the sharp metallic scent and felt it settling over his tongue. “Such a remarkable man, _doctor_. And just think of the story your body will tell now.” He rubbed his thumb along one small cut, wanted to stroke the fresh wounds of both arms but needed his hand to remain on Hannibal’s groin, to continue to tease. Hannibal mumbled something, and Will chuckled. “Louder, _darlin’_ , I can’t hear you.”

“Wi-ll,” Hannibal gasped from pale lips, a broken attempt at Will’s name from a hoarse voice and a flutteringly light head. 

“Mm, yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” Will slid forward, pressing his knees into Hannibal’s hipbones, keeping his hand planted roughly between their two bodies. He breathed out in Hannibal’s ear, his breath tickling the sweat gathering in the crook of his neck. Hannibal’s eyes fluttered shut again, even as he fought to keep them open. “Your body is mine, now. It tells _my_ story now. No matter what you do, no matter where you go, no matter _what_ happens, I will always be carved into you skin.” 

Hannibal felt Will’s words swimming around in his head, distantly understanding. Pain pulsed through him, his nerves like a frayed wire, a fallen power line in a storm. The crackling, raw edge of the energy was fading quickly only to be replaced by chilling numbness. He felt cold and he knew his chest was heaving with the weight of Will and he could feel each languid pump of his heart, trying to send blood to his limbs. Hannibal wished he could tell it to stop - it wasn’t being put to good use if it kept falling out of him like it was. 

The blood felt warm on his arms, and he could feel it dripping down past the fold of his elbows; falling, pooling, collecting on the arms of the chair and coagulating under where his arms rested against the upholstery. Will was whispering in his ear again, but Hannibal could not make out the words. He was afraid to ask Will to repeat himself. In that moment, he was too busy concentrating on trying to remember how much blood one could lose before doing irreparable damage and how that correlated to how much it was that he had already lost. And Will was doing nothing to stop his bleeding. 

He had to obey Will’s wishes before he would care for him. And right now, it was all Hannibal wanted to be cared for. Such a strange and foreign feeling for him, feeling so out of control of his body and his emotions. Distantly, with what little energy he had left, Hannibal _hated_ it. 

Suddenly, a rough pressure was applied to his arms. It surrounded his body, and Hannibal was sure the life was being squeezed right out of him. The hand on his groin was gone, and he felt himself aching there, throbbing in time with the weak pulses in his arms. A thready whine escaped his throat and he heard Will speaking again, but could not register the words. 

Clarity rushed back to Hannibal in the form of a swift hand across his cheek. The sting it left behind washed the blurred edges of his vision away. Colors rushed around him, and Will was suddenly very, very close to him. He mildly entertained the notion that he may vomit all down the front of Will. They were both a sticky, red mess anyway. Perhaps if he had more energy. Will was demanding all of his attention now and Hannibal’s cheek felt wet - blood or tears? 

“Hannibal, stay with me. You’ll want to do what I say. Now answer my question.” 

Hannibal moaned, pitifully. “I...don’t know what you asked.”

“I asked you to tell me how it feels, darling fawn.”  
Will’s hands clamped down on his arms again, red oozing from the cracks between his fingers. Hannibal swore he felt one of Will’s fingers nestled in each of the horizontal cuts. His vision blurred again and he had to swallow a few times before he could answer. “ _H-...hurts._ ”

“Oh, my dove, I know it does. I’ll make it all go away soon. Is that what you want?” 

Hannibal nodded, his tongue felt heavy and the inside of his mouth too dry to do anything but whine, if the noise that issued from his lips could really be considered a whine. 

Will’s weight shifted, and Hannibal felt him begin to undo the buttons and fly of his pants, smearing blood over the fabric. Still impossibly hard, Hannibal sighed at the immediate relief of being freed from the tight confines of his trousers. He heard Will laugh and felt the smile on his lips when he moved forward to nip and suck at his own again. Hannibal could taste the blood that still stuck in his teeth and the cracks of his lips, old and coppery. Delicately, gingerly, Will slid his hands up and down Hannibal’s forearms. It felt like he was smearing the blood onto his palms, cupping them, holding the pools of red between his fingers. 

With a last kiss, Will shifted his position and Hannibal felt warm, wet hands sliding up and down his cock. Rutting into the movement, groaning openly and gutturally despite himself, Hannibal opened his eyes to see Will staring. 

“You are to keep your eyes open, do you understand?” 

“ _Yes._ ” Hannibal gasped, writhing beneath Will. 

Will broke eye contact, and continued to maneuver his hand over Hannibal’s cock. Hannibal let his eyes stray down Will’s well defined and smudged red forearms to see that the man in his lap was smudging and rubbing red over him. Hannibal moaned again, feeling himself twitch and leak and grow harder. He already felt his orgasm building. He needed to come badly enough already that sparks were already firing off and igniting white fire behind his eyelids. Eyelids that he was not allowed to close, no matter how badly his eyes fought to roll back in his head. 

“You’re doing so well, darling fawn. Just a few moments longer.” 

Hannibal felt Will’s hands gathering more of his blood, the fresh spurts that had not turned brown and hard against the hair on his arms. He brought it back to his cock, using a loose fist to spread the blood like lubricant. Hannibal squirmed weakly and panted out a breath, trying to thrust, needing friction, needing Will, needing to come, _needing_.

Hannibal tried to reach out to grasp Will’s shoulders, hair, any part of him, but the tendons in his arms ached sharply with each attempted movement. “ _Will…!_ ”

“I love how you say my name, Hannibal. What is it? What do you need?” Will’s hands didn’t falter from his rhythm. 

“You. I-I...I need to come, Will, _please_.” 

Will hummed, low in his throat. “Soon.”

Hannibal yelped in protest. His complaints were silenced quickly, however, as leaned down and ran his tongue along the slick head of his cock. Hannibal’s thighs tensed and his hips canted forward slightly, brushing against Will’s lips, spreading blood and precum. Will opened his mouth and allowed Hannibal entrance, sank down as far as he could, lifted back up and did it again. 

Hannibal moved his arms this time, despite the overwhelming twinge of pain, and placed his hands atop Will’s head. He didn’t grab, didn’t guide, he wasn’t sure he could have made his fingers work if he tried. Blood dripped into Will’s hair from the new angle, and Will dragged his lips from as far down as he could go back up to the tip, swirling his tongue and sucking slightly harder before letting Hannibal slip from his mouth with an obscene, wet pop. 

Hannibal kept his eyes open, bulging, afraid if he was caught with them shut Will would stop what he was doing and making him wait longer. And Hannibal could _not_ wait any longer. His orgasm was building with such a desperation that his stomach rolled, his skin felt too tight over every part of his body - like his bones would pop through if he moved the wrong way. Tears gathered anew at the corners of his plastered open eyes. 

Will sunk his head down once more, Hannibal fitting in past his lips and blunt teeth, his hand fisting what could not fit in. And with that, Hannibal was gone. He felt himself explode into Will’s mouth, his cum creating a bigger mess mixing with all of the blood that already surrounded the two of them. A thin scream left his lips, followed by a sobbed apology before his eyes rolled back and darkness formed in front of him. 

Will watched Hannibal’s eyes roll back, lids drop closed, and smiled to himself. He leaned closer, felt the man’s breath on his lips, then pulled back, squirming off his lap. He made his way to the small bathroom attached to Hannibal’s office, opening the door with his hip and washing his hands, the water a dark pink as it spiral down the drain. He dried them, then took the towel back with him, draped over one shoulder as he stopped at the cabinet where he knew Hannibal kept his wine. He threw the doors open, found a small leather bag, and while intrigued, pushed it aside to reveal a more standard first aid kit. He grabbed that, let the doors open, and walked back to Hannibal, whose head had dropped forward in his unconscious state.

He set the first aid kit to the side, used the towel to wipe away from of the blood on one of Hannibal’s arms, the one with the multiple horizontal cuts. They welled slightly with blood, but the stream was thinning, as Will anticipated it would. He turned to the other arm, pressing the towel down on the wound and applying pressure to stave off the bleeding. He knew Hannibal would need a new set of stitches on this arm, and wondered if the doctor would do it himself, once he had his head about him again.

Will hoped he would. He’d like to watch that.

He wrapped the towel around his arm to soak up the blood, and opened the first aid kit, taking the medical tape and bandage roll out. Gently, he lifted Hannibal’s less injured arm, and began wrapping it in the bandage. His fingers were gentle, and he heard Hannibal give a small whimper. Will smiled over it, kept the smile even as he tapped the bandage on, and inspected it. There was a slight pink ghost marring the white, but not enough for him to worry. Those cuts would cease bleeding completely soon, with the pressure from the bandage. They’d heal- leave small, beautiful scars- but they would heal.

He turned back to Hannibal’s other arm, and pulled the bloodied towel away. He wrapped this bandage extra tight, saw the blood threatening to soak through, but another layer of bandage and it was just a mirage. Will reached down, tucked Hannibal back into his pants and zipped him up, before reaching up to tilt his head back, exposing his throat as his head lulled for a moment. Then Will stepped back, folding his arms and admiring the doctor in the state he was in. Broken and bloodied, bandaged yes, so that he would live another day- another day, another time for Will to cut him open again, if the need arose.

Will decided Hannibal was beautiful broken.

He moved closer again, rested one leg in the chair between both of Hannibal’s and leaned closer, sinking his hands into Hannibal’s hair and supporting his head. He cocked his own, before leaning in, pressing a kiss to his jawline. The man stirred, but his eyes stayed shut.

“My little fawn,” Will whispered, dragging his cheek along Hannibal’s to find his ear and breath, “You’ll never be rid of me now. I’m in your skin, darling- why, no. Hannibal dear, I _am_ your skin.” He chuckled, and inside Hannibal’s skull, the words ricocheted along the bone, before settling into his brain, sinking in with claws and taking hold, infecting his internal mind palace.

Will Graham was more than his skin. He was his bones, his blood, his mind and every chamber within it. Will Graham, in that moment, was everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, we weren't kidding.


End file.
